The Only Way Out Is Letting Your Guard Down
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. Slash challenge fic. Remus doesn't know how he ever got so lucky but he'll hold onto every last moment...James/Remus.


_Based around the prompts: Remus Lupin/James Potter, the colour burgundy, the mood gentle, and Breaking Benjamin: "You"_

Burgundy. His sheets are burgundy as Remus shakily lowers James down to them and in one idle corner of his mind, he wonders how James managed to finagle the house elves into doing that. Then James bites at his collarbone and the thought is forgotten, as it always is.

Sirius is in detention again and Peter is studying in the library, so they have the sunlight-swathed dormitory to themselves. Despite this, they take every precaution, layering multiple silencing, locking, and alarm spells around James's bed. They know people would not understand. Not even Sirius or Peter know, although James is pretty sure that Sirius suspects.

Remus refuses to tell anyone else, too ashamed of his own desires, brought up to believe that it was wrong. James doesn't mind. He understands. Each stolen moment just becomes that more precious.

Remus looks down into his lover's face, sees the hazel eyes half-lidded, the glasses already askew on that fine-boned face, and he carefully takes off the wire-framed lenses, setting them on the headboard where they will hopefully be out of the way. Now James will depend on him for guidance, reduced to touch and taste and hearing, and Remus knows from experience how heady that makes it all.

Carefully pushing his hands through James' thick, tousled mop, he lowers his face for a deep, bruising kiss, the only sounds lingering in the air their mutual gasping breath. James nips at Remus's bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from the seventeen-year-old werewolf.

He's never known someone like this. James is so wild, so carefree. His brash grin standing out like a beacon, the way he rides his broom so recklessly. He's got eyes for that pretty redheaded girl, but Remus selfishly hopes the two never pair. How can he give up this? This sweet, breathy perfection as his hands skim James' ribs and his mouth gently suckles the boy's neck, desperately careful never to break skin? The way James feels when Remus slides inside him, so tight it hurts, but feels so breathtakingly good, Remus only breathes out James's name in that low, raspy growl that usually only comes out when it's near the full moon?

Perhaps it is selfish, but can't he be allowed to be selfish just this once in his life? He discards his shirt to one side of the bed, straddling his lover, rubbing himself against James's answering hardness. The friction through their pants is enough to turn both the Marauders cross-eyed.

"Now," James growls, and Remus answers, Summoning the bottle of lube and handing it to James wordlessly. Please. This time. Just once...

But no, James merely uses it on himself, scissoring himself open with two fingers, and an unheard sigh of disappointment wafts between the two. Remus doesn't understand why James is always the bottom, never the top. He's attempted to find out before, but Potter always shakes his head and scrunches his nose and changes the subject with a bright flash of his hazel eyes that says the subject is closed.

Never mind, it doesn't matter, and he sinks into James, holding himself perfectly still as he adjusts to the feeling. James tosses up his hips against him, urging him to move, but he only grins and doesn't, savouring the moment.

Who knows when they'll get to do this again, after all. _If_ they'll ever do this again. Graduation is in two weeks. Finals begin tomorrow. The real world approaches, hurtling at lightning speed, and what then? James is a Potter, is a pureblood. No matter how he goofs off in class, he's still brilliant. He's a fantastic Chaser, the best Hogwarts has seen in decades. He can go anywhere, do anything.

And Remus? He's a shabby, poverty-riddled werewolf hiding in secret. Lucky that Dumbledore even let him attend. Sometimes he suspects that the Headmaster only brought him into Hogwarts as his own private charity case. Sometimes he even agrees. He may be smart, but he knows he's not worth much, not really. When James and Sirius befriended him first year, he was in shock, sure he must be dreaming. When the other three discovered his little moonlit secret, he was sure that they would spurn him, perhaps even publicly mock him as a filthy, flea-ridden mongrel. Out him as a werewolf, drive him away from the only place he's ever called home.

But no, instead they join him, become Animagi for him, and he is both dumbstruck and happier than he has ever been at this bold gesture of their friendship, though it be cloaked in secrecy.

He doesn't know when he falls for James, it happens so gradually. He admires the other boy, his daring, the way he grins at his professors right before flaunting the rules. The way his hair sticks up so untidily in the back, and how his glasses break every other week from some Quidditch mishap. The soft lull in his voice when he's comforting a younger year.

The way his lips feel, warm and insistent, pressing against Remus's mouth or the soft, vulnerable line of his throat, his adam's apple quivering convulsively. The delicate, strong fingers caressing down Remus's body, cupping his cock and drawing the most wretched moans from Remus's body he's ever experienced.

James chose him, picked _him_, and he doesn't understand it, can't explain it, but he doesn't ever want to lose it. And he knows he will, even on this sun-speckled day, in their own private interlude, as he slams his hips against James, as the rhythm picks up, as he feels his breath shortening, hears James matching it.

"Now, now, now," he hears James pant beneath him, and his hand fumbles for James, stroking him as fast as he dares. They both reach completion at the same time, Remus deep inside James, James all over his stomach and chest, with a few daring drops sliding down his neck to puddle in the hollow of his sternum.

"Thanks," James says breathlessly and Remus carefully slides out, falling to the side of his lover with a slight sigh as the now chilled air sinks into his skin. James casually reaches a hand around, resting it on Remus's shoulder, who dares not breathe at the comforting contact. So rarely is James in the mood to properly cuddle.

He wants to say something, but he can't. The words stick in his throat. So he stays there, pressed close against Potter's bare side, unable to articulate a word about how much the scruffy-haired boy _means_ to him, how he rescues him from himself.

And then they hear Sirius clattering up the steps and the mood is broken. James cleans up while Remus hastily dresses, both of them working together to take down the multitude of spells before anyone grows suspicious. Sirius is moodier than usual, ranting about Filch's latest detention ideas, and James and Remus both nod and rant and laugh in the right places, and if Remus feels James's eyes on him later, burning into him, well, who can say for sure?

And in the twilight-shrouded confines of their dormitory, Remus tries his best to make peace with the fact that soon enough, James will be leaving, will be leaving _him, _and he will be left behind.

It doesn't work, but he convinces himself that maybe one day, it will.


End file.
